She dies in the beginning
by Amousca
Summary: [PostTOB] Fate often has bitter twists in store. Anomen is about to learn of this... He had thought he would have some peace with his beloved Amousca, now that their first child was about to be born...
1. Disbelief and Pain

_**She dies in the beginning**_

_Okay… this is kind of "alternate universe". Hopefully this is the last character I kill in a while. I wrote a fanfiction some time ago about Amousca giving birth to triplets; one of the reviewers of that story said that he was relieved that Amousca had survived in the end. I didn't need more for this story to spring to my mind. So this is something like _Of a feeble constitution_ gone wrong._

_Don't worry, it reads as a stand alone. And please, please, review:)_

Chapter I. Disbelief and pain

Anomen stood in the corridor, disbelieving, too much in shock to offer any kind of reaction. Waatsuskun, his wife's familiar, whom he was holding in his arms and had watched weakening steadily for the past hour, was not breathing anymore. A long, awkward, painful silence stretched.

Minsc was uncharacteristically quiet, but his hand kept moving up and down agitatedly. Finally, Imoen burst into tears and turned to Sarevok for support. The tall warrior put an arm around her to hug her as she was crying against his chest, and bent his own head to hide his face. The others kept still a moment later, but then Minsc exclaimed:

"No! No, it cannot be! Not my witch, not again! Rrraaaaa!"

Immediately, Anomen and Keldorn seized hold of the Rashemani who was seconds away from attacking anyone in a mindless rage. He screamed and kicked in their grasp, and he did manage to push Keldorn backwards, being much stronger than the paladin, but then Sarevok in turn held him in his iron grip, and many minutes of struggle later, the ranger calmed. He turned to look at Imoen, standing next to them, who had tried to call out to Boo to calm him.

"Imoen, Boo wants to know… Why do I always fail my witch?"

"You did not fail her, Minsc," the mage answered, still crying. "Boo will explain it to you again later, and you will understand when you are less sad."

"But why did she die?", the ranger asked again.

Imoen walked to him and put her arms around him, a gesture that surprised all the others, but then Minsc started crying and hugged Imoen back.

Anomen turned away. Minsc going berserk had forced his intervention, but now he needed himself a moment to grieve. He looked down at the Delryn family ring in his hand; she had taken the habit of giving him back this ring when he was going on campaigns, so he could wear it on a chain to remind him of her while he was away. An hour earlier, when he had been asked by the physician to get out of her room, she had given him the ring, whispering weakly that it was only fit that he had her ring while _she_ was away on a campaign. He felt a rising disbelief, a growing pain in his chest, tears stinging his eyes.

Amousca was dead. She had gone beyond, unable to give birth to their children, and she had carried the three infants into death with her.

She was gone forever. He saw again in a flash the light in her eyes when she smiled at him, the tender expression on her face in the last months as she spoke of their child to be born, her gracious gestures as she brushed her hair. He would never see her again, would never hold her close again, would never hear her voice again.

The bitter, bitter irony of fate lashed at him cruelly; stopping a war in the Sword Coast, surviving the loss of her soul, surviving a battle against an immortal, refusing goddesshood, all this to die here in childbirth.

He rushed out of the temple and through the empty streets of Athkatla until he exited the city. He wandered helplessly and aimlessly in the woods for a while, walking like a distressed soul, his mind in turmoil.

Eventually, he fell, out of breath, tripping on a root, and sat there on the forest floor. He leaned back against the tree trunk, and he started crying. He screamed to Helm, he threw rocks with all his might, crying all the while.

He was still there, having fell asleep of exhaustion after a long moment, when Keldorn found him. The old paladin hesitated to wake him, but then the night would soon fall.

He woke his comrade-in-arms and friend with a gentle touch on the shoulder. Anomen stirred and opened his eyes. He apparently focused quickly again on what had happened when he saw Keldorn's face.

"The night is coming quickly, Anomen," Keldorn said quietly. "You have to come back within the city walls."

Anomen did not protest, and followed him silently. Keldorn left him at the door of the Delryn manor, nodding respectfully as he went away to his own estate.

Anomen drifted to the bedroom still in a second state. When he had changed for clothes more fitting for sleep, he lay down in bed. It was the bed he had shared with her for the last year, and her smell lingered still on the pillow. The sweet smell of vanilla that always permeated her hair and clothes.

Pain suddenly gained another meaning as his heart clenched. He turned and buried his face and his sorrow in the pillow.

He tried, for the few days before the burial, to keep himself busy. Mostly what needed to be done was to arrange the passing of her belongings. Everything was his by right of marriage, but there were some things he knew she wanted to belong to specific people. The Sphere was Imoen's, with the condition that Morul be allowed a laboratory to work within. Amousca's whole battle gear – the Robe of Vecna, the Staff of the Magi and the Rings of the Apprentice and of Wizardry – was also to be gifted to Imoen. A substantial donation was to be made to the churches of Lathander and Helm. There was nothing specific that seemed to go naturally to Sarevok, but Anomen eventually found one of her many journals, the one about the time just before their confrontation with Amelyssan, where she was relating the joy to see Sarevok begin to reconsider his views on the world. Anomen kept the other journals, but put this one aside for his brother-in-law.

All this activity, even if succeeding in hiding the full extent of his feeling of destruction to his servants and closest friends, did nothing to soothe the pain. At some moment, after stopping long minutes to keep the tears in check, he wondered with a curious detachment if he would ever live a single minute without this unbearable pain, even in the distant future.

The day of the burial would stay a memory buried within his mind. He knew it was her body he was looking at, but the artificial colour of her skin that used to be so delicate and soft and the expressionless mask of her face made him feel as though it was not _her_. He had heard his mother's maid say, years earlier, that looking at the body was a necessary step of the bereavement, because it forced to realize that death had claimed the loved one. It was the second time now that he saw the body of one he had loved, and twice it had been the same awful shock.

Many people came to offer condolences. Anomen saw them all string out as though some sort of endless ribbon. He did not listen much to anyone besides Imoen who hugged him with unstoppable tears, Sarevok who shook his hand in silence, a troubled expression of pain on his features, and Keldorn who shook his hand and said that she would be remembered.

She was put to the earth of this human land, far from the forests of the elves. She held the dried crimson rhodelia he had offered her between her hands, and white roses were on the lid of her coffin. Anomen's voice was not steady enough to say the prayers, and he let High Watcher Oisig officiate.


	2. Denial and Acceptance

_Okay, this is my broken-record-part: thank you Finduilas! I'm always so glad to get your reviews :) lol I'm so glad I actually conjured some emotion with this… writing sadness is so hard. Rest assured, I'm an indomitable romantic and cannot write sadness in itself… so Anomen won't be left in broken-hearted limbo. See? It starts right here (well, after a few years of broken-hearted limbo, I admit)…_

Chapter II. Denial and acceptance

It was many days before he actually went to the Order. No one blamed him for his dark mood, and he tried, with average success, not to snap at anyone. It lasted a few days before Keldorn took him aside.

"Sir Anomen, are you sure you should be here? Maybe a few more days…"

"A few more days to do what, Keldorn? Wander around the empty house full of her memories?"

Anomen looked away, his chest constricting painfully again, as though the pain was new. Keldorn let out a long sigh.

"I understand, Anomen."

Then, Anomen burst out every bit of pain, loss, regret, bitterness and anger he had been tortured with for the last days.

"Why, Keldorn? Why her? Why now, why _this way_?" The priest's voice broke, and he paused to compose himself. "I lost my mother, my sister… my father… and the love of my life, and our children… What is the message my Lord Helm wants me to understand of all these trials?"

"Anomen, I don't think…"

"How have I failed her this time? What should have I done? Surely her _destiny_ was not to die bearing my children after she overcame all that she overcame! Was it that my duty should have been to love her in spirit and soul only, and never in body? I _married_ her, by all the gods! I loved her and cherished her and married her, and… and I killed her. How am I supposed to live with this? Why was she punished in this way, for what sin, for what failure? She was an elf, she was supposed to live for centuries, she was supposed… supposed to…"

Anomen fell silent again, his face haunted. Keldorn was silent for a long time.

"Anomen, you cannot see this as a punishment. It is what fate has decided, and it has nothing to do with your actions or hers. I know you loved her very much," the paladin paused, his voice quavering, and went on, "but you would not honour her memory if you let your old losses convince you to blame yourself. I know she would not have wanted this."

And it was true, Anomen knew it.

Anomen lowered his head on his bent arm on the table of the private antechamber where they were, and his heavy shoulders started to shake with sobs.

"But _why_? There… her death cannot be… cannot be meaningless and… and futile… There has to be a _reason_…"

"Those reasons are not for us mortals to know," Keldorn stated softly.

How the watchers had repeated this during his training as a priest, and yet… yet how hollow it suddenly seemed a comfort. He cried.

ooooo

Life goes on, cruelly, no matter what, and Anomen gradually went back to a life that was his own. He eventually left the manor to stay almost all the time at the Order, when he was not on campaigns. The only reminders he had of her was a single golden hair, found on her pillow after many weeks, and the Delryn ring that had belonged to his mother, then to his sister, that he thought he would give to a young cousin or other one day. For now, it was dangling on a chain from his neck.

It was four years later that a campaign took him further south than the Order usually went. He and his party were resting at an inn that night, and he noticed an uneasiness among his men as he came downstairs. They were casting him glances as he came down, with dark expressions. He wondered what was happening, when suddenly he noticed the music.

It was an elf singing, he knew it instantly. She was a beautiful lady, a gold elf also, and in many ways she reminded him of his lady; in many other ways, she was very different.

He caught only the last words of the song, as it was already begun. He stopped there, standing on the last step of the stairs. She was singing with a voice high and pure, with emotion carried with poignant intensity.

"She said I forgive you

Don't regret our time

You've got to move on love

Don't live out your life like a sad song

She said I forgive you

You must too or die

You've got to let me go

Angel eyes

Four years and still I dream

Agonize

Such beauty not since seen

Angel eyes

Your face is all I see

Agonize

Forever haunting me"

Anomen stood there in silence. There was no applause; the mood was not to lightness after such a song. Before he knew what he was doing, he was standing in front of the bard. She looked at him, her viol on her lap, and her expression became thoughtful and pained, as though she could guess what had happened to him. Anomen knelt and slowly, his hands slightly shaking, he put down Amousca's ring instead of a few gold pieces in the case of the bard's instrument.

His heart was aching to give up her ring, but he knew that no cousin could accept this ring, because its memory meant too much pain. And if he was to live his life as something else than a sad song, he had to let her go…

He nodded in silence to the bard as he got up. She returned his gaze levelly and nodded back. He went back up to the loneliness of his room, and when he was alone, for the first time in four years he felt at peace. He was sad, and he cried, but there was no more anger or resentment. He felt a soothing touch on his soul, Helm comforting him, or maybe her watching over him from beyond.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_The lyrics are part of "Angel eyes" by Jerry Cantrell. Thank you ever so much for writing such a sadly wonderful song._


	3. Building a Life Again

_Woohooo, two reviews! Thank you so much Elena, I'm so glad to hear from you again and see that you're not tired of my stories yet. Thank you, Finduilas, as always for your suggestions. Well, here this story gets maybe a bit less sad, so I hope you both feel better for _my_ Anomen ;)_

_Again, thank you for the reviews, and don't be shy to drop it again (or for a first time)…_

Chapter III. Building a life again

This mission would be the last he would fulfil for the Order. The decision came to him almost as though it was from some outer influence; Anomen did not question it. He felt more at peace with his God, now that somehow his peace with Amousca's death was made. Even if Helm had not blamed him for his bitterness by withholding His powers from him, Anomen knew that his God had been displeased.

So he left the Order. There was a dinner, the last evening, so everyone could say farewells to him; Keldorn, Ryan, Wessalen, everyone was there. He was touched and felt honoured by all this recognition he received by the men of the Order, many of which he had admired and envied as a squire.

He travelled far, setting off north in an attempt to avoid the southern lands he had explored in Amousca's company and that reminded him of her. Once he reached Baldur's Gate, however, fate intervened again, and he heard of a ship leaving for Maztica.

He embarked.

He arrived in the middle of a chaos and fear he knew well; it was the panic inherent to a country under siege. It was not long before he felt the call of duty to protect the people of Maztica from the vicious cult now rising there and asking for sacrifice in human blood.

Training the maztican soldiers and teaching them, he felt each day that he grew closer to Helm, coming back to his God's teachings after the distance he had taken following Amousca's death. He came to see that he still had a duty to this world and to the Watcher, despite his wife's passing. He had thought from the moment he had met her, with the violent passion of his youth, that _she_ was his life's duty. It had been hard to accept that fate had other plans for her, and for him.

He came to love Maztica and its people. The heat and suffocating humidity of the jungle, even in the short dry season, was rather unkind on armour and the men beneath it, but Anomen found that he could adapt surprisingly easily. He discovered with fascination the dozens of exotic fruits grown there in the gardens behind the small, clay huts, and the choclatl so abundant everywhere. The people were striking to his Amnish eyes; they were small and brown, with round noses and smooth black eyes; their muscles were small and hard, gifted with concealed strength, and their tongue was strange and full of words cut in half by aspirations.

The total change of scene made him unexpectedly at peace. He observed everything, the way the women were limited to the tasks of the house, the way the men dealt with each other almost without words, how everyone accepted and bowed to authority. Rationally, he knew he should have been shocked by those customs so different than his, but it did not happen. He blended in, to his total surprise, as a stranger with an aura of authority and power, whose people smiled to and made gifts to. He could teach them about duty, honour and loyalty, the difference between obedience and subservience, but they had something to teach him as well. They could show him true generosity, simplicity of heart, and the relentlessness of hard work unaided by magic.

He was proud when a new order was formed following his teachings of Helm's doctrine. He was ready, for the first time in years, to make his life in the same place for a while, and he had found some peace at last.

They drove back the cult, and the land thrived.

ooooo

Anomen made his life of healing the sick, teaching and training young men at arms, and keeping Maztica as safe as it could be. Even renowned pirates came to avoid the coastal villages guarded by the Disciples of Anomen.

He made new friends among the disciples, got used to let his armour take dust and rust in a locked chest in a corner of his small clay house, learned the difficult tongue of Maztica. He met a few women; those he had occasion to meet were exceptional individuals, determined to disregard the strong traditions defining the men's and women's roles. They were women he could admire, and he did; but never in all these years did he long for more than friendship. Sometimes he wondered why his heart would never beat for another as it had for Amousca. Was it that with her death he had idealized her, or was it that he was destined for her and now that he had known her, he could never believe he loved another? His solitude was not a conscious choice on his part, but he did not suffer from it.

His life was quiet now, according to the slowness of the hot jungle and bending to the rhythm of the rain. He had never felt pressured by his chaotic life on the Order's campaigns or as an adventurer, but he found the peace he tasted now to be appeasing after all this time. It was all at once easy and hard to maintain Helm's doctrine of order here; it was easy because there was so much time to make one's life of, and yet people never seemed to arrive in time, and you could never know for sure where something was when you asked directions on the street. Again, Anomen blended in with unexpected ease, learning to plan for people to be late to keep order in his own life.

One of the most important things that Amousca had taught him about life was that you did not judge others' way of life because it was different. You had a right to judge if it was evil, but Anomen had yet to see any malevolence in these timid and kind-hearted people. He could barely imagine how they had worshipped their cruel gods of sacrifice just two generations ago.

Occasionally, when he found himself waiting for someone for longer than usual, Anomen smiled slyly to himself, marvelling at the patience he could demonstrate now. How his sister would have been thunderstruck to see how the turbulent young man he had been had turned out. He thought to himself he must be getting old.

ooooo

In the following weeks, he found himself hoping he was not so old, when suddenly there were dire news coming from further south. There was a kensai-sorcerer marching on Maztica in his quest for power; it was unclear, but it seemed he was an adorer of the Five looking for a way to free Bhaal's essence. Whether he knew of Anomen's presence and his role in the fall of the Five was impossible to determine, especially through the distorted news available in this country which guild of messengers was only in its infancy.

Anomen busied himself with siege preparations, and eventually the time came when the kensai-sorcerer's army was spread in a maiz field they had burned down to the ground, not far from the modest building that was the fortress to the Disciples of Anomen. Anomen stood there among his friends and followers, his fellow comrades in arms in the coming battle. At forty, he was not afraid to take arms again. He issued orders concerning the battle strategy, and when the enemy was near enough, he prayed to Helm and summoned a Deva to his aid and that of his followers.

Even as he cast the spell, he felt a tremendous strain on his soul; summoning a Deva always was an act of utmost holiness that requested much dedication in the casting, but this time it was particularly draining. But he did as he always did; he offered his prayers to Helm as he cast and drew the divine energies for his cause. And finally, the celestial appeared in a ray of sunlight breaking through the uniform cover of heavy clouds.

Anomen fell to his knees, partly because of the draining spell, and partly because of the celestial being now standing – floating – before him. The men all around him were kneeling also, paying their respects to the creature gifting them with her presence.

"Stand, my lord," she said. "There is a battle to be fought, and Helm requires your service and mine in the coming battle."

Anomen stood, he did not know how, and faced the coming battle as his Lord ordered. The battle was long and hard-fought, but the adorer of the Five met his fate at the hands of the Disciples of Anomen, under the guidance of the Watcher and his celestial witness, who would not let this come to pass.

And once the battle was over, one of the lieutenants spoke up to the celestial, still floating next to them, sheathing her flaming sword:

"If I am allowed to speak…"

She nodded.

"Lord Anomen has taught us about the higher planes. If I have learned his precious teachings well, you are not a simple Deva."

"No, my good man, I am not a simple Deva. I am a planetar in the service of Helm, and one of my missions was to witness the end of this bringer of chaos."

She nodded towards the fallen kensai-sorceror.

"Your other mission, my lady?", Anomen asked then, his voice strangely cautious.

"I was to speak with you, my lord, but the time and place are not appropriate. Let us raise and heal those who can be saved."

Anomen nodded silently and went on distributing his healing spells. And eventually, his spells were exhausted, and the physicians and such came to the battlefield to collect the wounded and to bring them back to the fortress.

"My lord, maybe we can converse in private now?", the planetar asked.

"Yes… Amousca, I would like to speak with you," Anomen answered, and he gestured her towards the gates.

Anomen's lieutenants stared after Anomen in shock. Everyone had heard the story of his elven wife whispered in awe at a moment or another – it was a tragic love story that struck the imagination in this country where almost no one had ever seen elves.

But the people of Maztica had a way to guess at other people's minds without the need for words, and all of Anomen's friends found themselves thinking back on how he had reacted when she had appeared.

"She _is_ Amousca," one declared at last.

There were no nods, only discrete moves of the hands or approving stares, which all of them could easily decipher.

"No wonder he fell on his knees when she was summoned," another added.

"And no wonder either how she stays so long on our plane. She must have great power, both sustained by the magic she wielded as a mortal, and by Helm she serves."


	4. Reunited

_First, thanks so much for Elena, Finduilas and Arabellaesque. You all made my day with your reviews. I'm very glad this story passes the emotions from my characters to you… As for Amousca's return… Anomen didn't really deserve to spend the rest of his life alone and lonely, did he? ;)_

_Please keep reviewing :)_

Chapter IV. Reunited

When he finally closed the door to his room behind him, Anomen allowed himself a minute of contemplation of Amousca's modified form. She was even more beautiful than she used to be; her features were still those of an elf, although hard to recognize because of the blue skin and luminous eyes that forced the regard away from her face. Her circlet and wings gave her a majesty she could not have had before.

Again Anomen knelt.

"My lady… to see you now… I…"

"I know," she said softly. "It will hurt when I go away again."

Anomen nodded, then looked up at her. She had stopped floating and was now standing on the floor in front of him.

"Helm sent me to you with a message."

"Yes, my lady?"

"I am here because you have succeeded in overcoming your bitterness, and Helm knows the trials you have endured. You have learned and grown from those trials, and Helm is satisfied with your strength. He needed to test your determination and strength before he let you summon me."

Anomen lifted his head to her. He wondered how he was expected to survive yet another time when she would leave him forever. He had not touched her since he had summoned her, because he was afraid his heart would be torn and broken and stopped if ever he tasted her touch again, to lose it forever again afterwards.

"You can summon me other times later," Amousca said softly. "Helm does not need to test you any longer, and has no wish to cause you unnecessary pain. And I am also free, because I too have sacrificed and suffered in His service."

Amousca always had had a way of guessing what he thought. Anomen stayed there on his knees, absorbing all this, bathed in the divine light radiating from her.

"You are to be given another mission in Helm's name, Anomen," she added, her voice soft.

"What is this next mission, Amousca?"

"Helm needs a servant, a being of the planes that could yet understand the mortals. All mortals as I am are changed too much by our death and the way our soul is reshaped to allow us to become celestials. We cannot fulfil the duty He has in mind." She paused.

"I do not understand. What is my role in this?"

"Helm needs an aasimar servant, one that will be raised and trained for the service in Helm. Helm wishes for you to be his father, because he is confident that your strength and faith will run strong in your offspring; he would trust your children with such an important mission."

There was a long silence. She took an audible breath.

"Yes, Anomen, you are to sire His servant with me."

Anomen closed his eyes. "My lady, besides the unmentionable pain that I will live just to see you going away again, how can I ever touch you again? How can I ever… be intimate with you again, with the _goal_ to get you with child, when it is what… what made you die…"

He knew her touch would come before her hand reached his shoulder. Her aura brushed him before her hand.

"My love," she started. "You know there are reasons the mortals are not given to see. But now, you are given to see one of these reasons, and you must not cheapen this revelation. I had to die at that moment, Anomen. For my mission, that was to become Helm's servant who had need of my sorcery, but also for yours. To teach you that self-blame was not the answer to grief. And you had to reach this conclusion on your own, not because I have told you so. You have learned well, Anomen. I have watched you endure with great pride; I am proud to have loved and been loved by a man so strong. And I loved you all the while, and I still love you, and will love you again, if you allow us this chance… this _joy_ we are rewarded."

"Helm, forgive me," Anomen exhaled. "You were my strength and my weakness, Amousca. I have found my own strength when you went away, but to see you now… it brought back my weakness, because you could so easily break my heart… break me forever. I am afraid, and I was blinded by this fear, but I will not deny now the trials I have already overcome. I am not broken now, nor will I be." He looked up to her. "I will not consider this a reward, because the actions of the gods should not be considered as punishment or reward. I now understand why. I could not explain, but I _know_. But I will accept what joy I am offered."

She caressed his cheek. "Even now, you are wiser than I am, and I admire you, for you are a simple mortal and wiser than Helm has made me, his celestial servant."

Anomen trembled under her touch. "May I hold you now, my love?"

"It would be most welcome," she answered with a smile.

He got up on his feet, then slowly walked closer to her, and took her in his arms. Her aura surrounded him as much as her arms encircled him, and he lost himself in the sweetness of the embrace. His eyes filled with tears as he held her again, as he had so many times in his dreams, but this time she was flesh and blood in his arms, her warm body so very real, her sweet scent of vanilla, and he could feel the brush of her bright spirit and soul.

Tears flowed down his cheeks as he kissed her, and lifted her with his arms locked around her waist, and made her spin in the air. "Oh, my love," he murmured. His heart was swelling and pounding. Any second it would leap out of his chest, he could swear.

She softly called his name, her voice a caress he had heard many times in his dreams, and then they shared a long-denied joy.


	5. Mending a Heart

_OK, that was a baby elephant if ever there was one. Not this chapter, but the epilogue that will follow. I wasn't quite decided what I would do for the conclusion, so I wasn't so sure what I'd do of this, so it took all that time to come. (Sigh) Here it is now._

_Elena maiden of Gondor: sorry for not updating soon as you asked ;) But thank you for the offer of Aragorn's healing skills, although I don't think that'll be necessary. Thank you for your review :)_

_Finduilas: first, well thank you for your honesty :) I see how you could find the resolution calculating and unromantic, but I believe Helm to be a stern god. I think he would see duty as very important, but wouldn't disapprove Anomen and Amousca for drawing happiness from the occasion. Besides, as you'll see in this chapter, not everything in this event was calculated; there is still room for the chaos of fate. As for Amousca being a follower of Helm, it is true that I never wrote anything about her praying to him, but then I never had an occasion too in the stories I wrote. To me it just seemed natural that she would share at least a part of her husband's faith. I hope you'll like this chapter better than the last…_

Chapter V. Mending a heart

A long while later, Anomen held Amousca tightly to him, tenderly and almost painfully so, as the last of their pleasure faded into the blissful oblivion of fulfillment.

It had been urgent and intense, yet tender and loving, as all embraces of lovers long denied. Anomen trembled for a long time in Amousca's embrace, his heart overwhelmed by the preciousness of this moment. It felt like a beautifully carved piece of the purest crystal in his heart, that he could break at the slightest move.

Finally, he shifted to pull her in his arms.

"I love you," he whispered in her hair. "My heart was always yours."

She smiled. "I know. I love you too."

He sighed and she lay her head on his chest, and as she listened to his heartbeat, she was gifted a revelation of her God. She touched Anomen's shoulder, and said:

"You were wise to say that the gods' actions should not be considered punishment or reward. But there are exceptions to this rule. It is clearly a punishment when a God takes away the powers He gifted to one of His servants."

Anomen stiffened. A quick prayer to Helm assured him that this sinister fate had not befallen him yet. "Why so dark a statement in this moment, my love?", Anomen asked, jerked unpleasantly out of his mood.

"It is not dark, because I am not finished," she stated, and he recognized her teasing tone with yet another rippling joy. He had forgotten how endearing she was when she teased. "I meant to say that we have clearly been rewarded."

Anomen looked at her, uncertain.

"What do you mean?"

"You will see," she answered with an enigmatic smile.

She had to leave soon after, exhausted from her prolonged stay on this plane, and somehow Anomen's heart was not hopelessly broken when her glorious light faded from his room. His bed was still disordered from their… activities, and for once in his life he had no desire for discipline regarding this.

That night, he lay down in bed, and fell asleep rapidly, his heart completely mended after all these years – not only in peace, but mended in one piece – and surrounded by her smell. The next morning, he found a long, red hair sticking to his arm, and smiled fondly. He folded it and put it with the other hair of hers that he kept.

A few months went by in this manner; Anomen was surprised himself that he did not need her presence more imperiously, but she had said that it would be harder for her to leave the celestial plane during her pregnancy, and he had promised he would not cause her difficulties and would not call her.

And one day, Anomen felt the call in his soul. He interrupted himself in the middle of his prayer, drawing intrigued glances by the acolytes reciting with him, but he could not remember at all what he had been saying. She was drawing near.

He excused himself and fled the chapel, mumbling a hasty explanation about the return of Helm's messenger. There were silent nods of approval.

She arrived a few seconds after him, flooding his small house's only room with her celestial light.

Her birthing had nothing to do with the first. There was almost no pain, and nothing went wrong, and she gave birth to a little son in just a quick moment. Anomen tended the baby in silence, not daring to ask her why she needed to come to the mortal plane to deliver an aasimar servant to Helm. And then, Anomen was aware of another infant making its way into this world.

"My love…", he started, but then he trailed off, at a loss as to what exactly he wanted to ask.

"No, Anomen. There are only two. And Helm has decreed that I have suffered already all I had to suffer to give birth to our children."

Anomen nodded and put the son down on the warm bed over his mother's head, and soon a daughter was born. Anomen tended her too, and Amousca requested to see both their children.

"Look at our children, Anomen." She was smiling tenderly. "I have to leave now, but… kiss me again, until we meet again."

Anomen sighed sadly and kissed her gently.

Then she smiled a bashful smile. "Remember, I told you we had been rewarded."

And with that, she pushed the daughter into his arms. He took the baby carefully, and looked at Amousca who was smiling. She caressed his face, and whispered:

"Summon me again soon."

And she left with their son, leaving him with their daughter.


	6. Epilogue

_Hello again!_

_Kyubak: all your worries answered here ;) I hope you like my resolution. Thanks for the review :)_

_Elena maiden of Gondor: yep, two more babies! I'm glad to see you're still reading my stories :) Thank you for your review :)_

_Finduilas: ah, I'm relieved you thought that this chapter was at least worth reading despite your discomfort after the previous one, and that you even found something in it that you liked. Thank you for taking the time to review :)_

Epilogue

Even though Anomen regularly summoned Amousca in the following months, it seemed that no one in the community of the Disciples of Anomen could quite believe that his daughter had a mother.

Every family offered to take care of Moire. The mothers could not accept that a single man raised a child alone, much less a daughter. Anomen was touched by the repeated offers to adopt Moire; it never crossed his mind to consider the offers as a way to steal her from him. Even though he was the one to change her nappies and stay up with her throughout the night worrying when she had a fever, he did accept that his neighbour, a woman with five children of her own, acted as nurse for Moire.

Anomen took the habit of summoning Amousca once a tenday, and after a year, she started coming with their son Saraveil. All throughout Moire's childhood, the visits of her mother and brother were like her own private ball. Even though the family was not together at all times, Anomen managed to show Saraveil a few tricks when it came to fencing or fishing. Amousca and Moire similarly engaged in feminine activities excluding the men, such as reading tales, trying make-up and learning to weave Maztican patterns with the neighbours. Over the years, Moire and Saraveil had fights as all brothers and sisters, a few of them memorable. Despite the time apart, their family was more normal and sheltering than either Anomen's or Amousca's had ever been.

Besides being as normal as it could, the family did have a Maztican influence. Anomen found a few side advantages to raising a daughter in his country of adoption. Being raised as much by him and Amousca as by all the families of the community, Moire developed the shyness and obedience to her father that was more characteristic of Mazticans than of Amnians. Anomen often grinned inwardly when she came to ask his permission to go to a dance or to another party, and always grinned wider when a poor terrified young man came to ask his permission to bring his daughter to a special religious celebration or another equally innocuous activity. He never had to choose a chaperon, because there was always a girl from the neighbourhood who considered Moire half her sister and volunteered with such zeal that she made it seem as though lives depended on it. Anomen never had to check on Moire to make sure she did not sneak out of her room's window at night – Helm knew, he had run after his sister at dawn a few times himself. He never had to inquire to other parents if the new activity chosen by the youngsters was convenient or not, because there was always one who would come and make a full report to him, more complete and detailed than anything he had ever received in the Order.

His daughter grew up surrounded and raised by the people of Maztica. She learned their tongue as she was merely more than a baby playing with the neighbours. She grew up and learned to decipher their complex, subtle and shifting body language. She was permeated with the profound sense of sharing and generosity that was one of the greatest qualities of Mazticans. She was raised to consider physical work and hardships to be a part of life and never complained. She faced every adversity with the unshakable happiness and benevolent smile of all Mazticans.

Aside from what she learned of her country of adoption, she retained her father's sense of honour and duty. He also taught her to believe in her own convictions and think for herself; those were values he missed from his homeland. Moire became very aware of politics and injustice, and a fierce believer that things could be changed for the better.

Anomen was very proud of her.

As for Amousca and Saraveil, much of their lives remained hidden from Anomen, their duty not to be revealed to mortals. It did not create coldness between them; there was plenty of everyday life in the planes to tell when the weekly reunion happened.

As much as Anomen was proud of his daughter, he was proud of his son. Saraveil accepted the fate that was placed upon him calmly and confidently; he did not rebel against its sacrifices as some would have. He became very adept with the sword; at fifteen he was one of the finest blades of the planes. Although, aware of the duty Helm had in mind for him, he did not concentrate only in his fighting skills, and he was gifted in other areas of life. He learned about languages, divine magic, history of deities and planar politics the way some learn to walk. He set to learn everything that he could with determined single-mindedness.

Saraveil was not the only talented child of Amousca and Anomen. At ten, Moire demonstrated her first talents in the ways of magic and, guided by Amousca, her latent potential quickly matured into powerful sorcery. Five years later, Moire mastered the Weave enough to cast endless cantrips, a few low-level spells on her own, and she could decipher even the most complicated spell scroll.

Brother and sister were separated by their choice of career, but they shared a great physical semblance. Both looked more or less like elves, with pointed ears and finely chiselled features, although the golden hue of their skin gave their origin away. Moire's sun-kissed tan obscured partly the golden, giving only a faint glow to her skin, while Saraveil's fairer skin was more golden.

When he saw them standing together, Anomen sometimes wondered how he could be the father of two such wonderful young people.

He was often reminded that he was indeed a father, however, when Moire would come back late or give him another cause to worry.

One evening of Flamerule found him splashing through the mud as he paced restlessly in the street in front of his house. It was the night of the tenth-day, and Amousca and Saraveil would visit tonight. Anomen had expected Moire to be back at the house early in expectation, before the afternoon downpour of the middle of the raining season, but she was late now. He had been pacing worriedly for almost an hour in front of his small house, marking a path through the wet, deep, sticky mud, irritably rubbing at his grey-streaked beard, when finally she appeared at the top of the slope that marked the end of the street.

Anomen's blood ran cold when he saw her limping, and rather badly at that. He started at a walk, but within two strides he was running to her. He was by her side and had healed her before either of them had said a word.

"I _told_ you not to go wander the streets alone, Moire!", he exclaimed once she was healed. He had changed in many ways throughout his life, but he still exclaimed in anger when he was tormented by another powerful feeling.

Moire had two people to inherit a temper from, however. She bristled at her father's unfair accusation and, now that her leg was healed, she could stand up to him and glare at him. When she looked up at him so, lifting her nose and narrowing her eyes, pushing her hair over her shoulder, she looked so much like her mother that Anomen had to make a serious effort not to melt and grin, anger and concern forgotten.

"I was not 'wandering the streets'!", she protested indignantly. "I was in Xe'kate, lending a hand to the teacher there!"

Anomen tapped his foot irritably. "Surely it is not one of the children who sliced into your thigh with a dagger!"

"No! It was one of those xa'xat." She always used the Maztican term to designate the strangers with pale skin, eyes and hair. "I told you I suspected them of being slavers! Today I surprised one with his hand in the bag, on the path from Xe'kate to here. He had surprised a girl alone at the well when she went to fetch water. There were three xa'xat, but what was I supposed to do? Run and be taken down by a flying arrow or a thrown dagger? Lay down and die? Surrender and be taken a slave also?" Her eyes were flashing angrily, and she growled, "I'm sure they would have been glad to add me to their collection of curiosities besides Aerie." She took a breath and set her shoulders. "So I pulled my scroll of Protection from normal weapons, I Stoneskinned, and I summoned spiders. I tried to hold them off and keep them fighting the spiders, but… they're not stupid, and one managed a hit on me before he was killed by the spider's poison." Anomen relaxed at hearing her tell her story. Despite the dire situation she had been in, she had not acted rashly, and had faced the situation very reasonably. She had not run in cowardice, but faced three opponents calmly and courageously.

Now that her story was told in her defence and that she felt she had proven her point that she had not been "wandering the streets", her anger faded and she started to shift from foot to foot nervously. Slowly she metamorphosed from an angry Amnian teenager to a Maztican girl casting her eyes downward timidly before her scowling father. "Are you still mad at me, Father?", she asked.

Anomen smiled and took her in his arms. "No, I am not mad at you anymore."

At his words of acceptance, she laid her head down on his shoulder and relaxed. She put her arms around his chest and hugged him, feeling his beard tickling her cheek. She started shaking then. He knew only too well that it was not only the aftermath of her injury; it was her first battle. It was the first time she had faced an enemy who had wanted to end her life.

"It's alright, Moire, you're alright…" He patted her back comfortingly. There was a long silence, again something that reminded him of her mother; Amousca often needed time to gather her thoughts to say something that hurt.

"It was horrible, Father," Moire whispered. "The spider… it bit through their legs and pierced them through the chest with its legs… There was blood all over. And the sounds when they died, the choking because of the poison…"

She began crying and he held her tightly against him.

"I'm sorry!", she sobbed. "I'm sorry I killed them, no one should die like that, in so much pain! I didn't know! I didn't mean, I didn't want that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

He hushed her, and she cried on his shoulder. A few curious children were watching them, squatted down in the mud, half hidden behind houses' corners, but Anomen paid them no attention.

"It's alright, Moire… You did what you had to. It's alright. You had no choice."

"But they… they're _dead_! I k-killed them!"

"Hush, I know. Your spider killed them… They were evil men, slavers who sold or killed many helpless children before. We should not seek to bring death, but sometimes it cannot be avoided, and it can be forgiven… Hush, Moire. I'm sure Helm has seen your regret and has forgiven you."

She cried a while longer, drawing strength from his hug and his calm assurance that her god had forgiven her, and finally she pulled back and dried her tears.

"I just hope no other slavers will come," she said tearfully. Then her face set in a determination that made her look a few years older than her fifteen, and she added fiercely, "But if any dare to come here again, I shall deal with them. No one will take children away from under my nose again. Not to end up as slaves. Everyone deserves freedom by birth."

Anomen gave a tender smile of encouragement to his headstrong, Maztican daughter. "I am so proud of you, Moire. You are so much like your mother."

She bit her lower lip, ready to start crying again. She cursed inwardly; why was it that once you started crying you couldn't stop? In a small voice, she inquired, "Is this true, Father?"

"Aye, it is true," he assured her warmly. "Why, practically the same thing happened to Amousca once, long ago… I was a young man still, barely twenty-five years-old… Your mother was quite an imprudent lady, and so we were walking the Slums of Athkatla at night – _never_ dare to do that, Moire, or you shall answer to me – and we surprised an Amnish guard being bribed into 'forgetting' a slave's pleas for help as he tried to escape…"


End file.
